“And what would happen if you did grant your wife a divorce?”

For a long moment he looked at her, and she thought she saw something flit across his face. Eventually he said “Who are you, anyway? What's with all t' questions? I'd 'ave said ye were a friend o' 'ers, tryin' to get information outta me, 'cept all 'er friends're fat ugly pigs like 'er. She don't know any lookers.”

She ignored the backhand compliment, shrugged. “Just hypothetically,” she assured him. He looked blank.

“Hypo what?”

“Theoretically,” she amended. Still the blank look.

“Uh?”

She sighed. “Just for the sake of argument. Say you did divorce her. What would become of her. And your child?”

He turned in the bed, uncharacteristically chivalrously aiming away from her as he farted loudly. “Ah, she's got some fancy man, teacher I thinks. I seen 'em together few times. Guess she thinks she'd live 'appily ever after with 'im.” He snorted.

But she had come now to the endgame. Getting out of the bed, she padded across the wooden floor to where her clothes were scattered on the floor. Hunkering down, she fished in the pocket of her trousers, extracting something, and returned to the bed, though she did not climb back in. She presented the object to him. It was a key.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, his eyes screwing up in suspicion.

“The key to my heart.” She couldn't resist having one last joke at his expense. It was the last time he would laugh at anything for a very long time. “No, just joking,” she admitted as she noted his blank look. “I want you to hold on to this key until I return from The Castle of Forever.”

As if he had forgotten her intimation earlier, he started like a man asleep over whom ice water has just been thrown. He sat up in the bed, frowned at her. “You're really planning to go there?” His voice was a mixture of awe, disbelief and scorn.

“I really am,” she confirmed. “And when I come back, you will return that key to me.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. What the hell was the crazy bitch getting at? Gorgeous tits though. And that arse!

“If I do not return within seven days,” she went on, pulling on her boots and allowing him a last look as she bent over to fasten them, his now rampant cock protesting in the strongest possible terms, “you may keep the key. Take it to the local bank here. Present it at the front desk. The manager will take you to my strong room where you will find more money than you could ever spend in a lifetime.” She frowned, calculating in her head. “In many lifetimes,” she amended. “Suffice to say that your life will change for the better and you will never again worry about where your next meal is coming from.” She watched him as he turned the key over in his hand, the object having suddenly become very important and precious to him.

“There is one condition,” she warned him. “As soon as you have used the key, you will grant your wife her divorce. If you do not,” she flashed her eyes dangerously, “certain people are under instructions to make sure you do not live to enjoy your newfound riches. Am I clear?”

His eyes, now bright with greed and cunning, flicked from the key in his palm, literally the key to a whole new life, a life he had dreamed of but never expected to be given a chance at, to the strange, heartbreakingly and cockburningly gorgeous woman who stood half-dressed before him, pulling on her tight leather trousers. He sighed as that wondrous backside was once again sheathed in leather, but it wasn't such a loss, the leather being so tight he could easily make out the contours of her delectable rump still.

“Seriously,” he breathed, “who the fuck are you? You come in 'ere, let me fuck you without hardly a word, when you could 'ave yer pick o' any man here - fuck! Any man in the kingdom! (She smiled thinly at the clumsy compliment) - an' ye quiz me about me 'ome life and then offer me riches beyond me wildest dreams? Why? What do you get out o' it? An' why should I trust you?” The thought seemed to have dawned upon him suddenly, caution fighting avarice and the former winning out for now. “You coulda set it up so that soon as I goes to the bank with this key they arrest me!”

“What for?” she asked reasonably, but he was ready with a plausible answer.

“Maybe you tells them you lost your key, or it were stolen,” he hypothesised, without ever knowing the meaning of the word. “Maybe you leave word, someone comes in and tries to use the key, call the guards. Maybe,” he slipped out of bed now. His sword was hanging on the chair in its belt. "Maybe I oughts t' turn you in to the Blues. 'Appen they may just be lookin' for ya, little slut."

She doubted he even knew how to use the sword, but she was becoming bored with the game now, and time was moving on. Looking deeply into his eyes, she told him in a very deliberate voice that seemed to brook no argument “I'm not trying to trick you. What I say is the truth. You have no reason to doubt my word.”

His tone was immediately concillatory. And more than a little afraid. “S-Seven days, y'say?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Seven days from today, if I have not returned from The Castle of Forever, you may take that key and build a new life for yourself, with my compliments. Do not,” she warned, “try to use it before that time or you will be arrested. I have left strict instructions at the bank that the vault is not to be opened, nor anyone attempt to get them to open it, before that time. Do you understand?” He nodded, quite compliant now. She shrugged into her blouse and did up the buttons, aware he was watching her but no longer caring. Her interest in him was done; now, it was his long-suffering spouse she was concerned with.

“However,” she went on, “should I return from the castle before that time, then you must swear to do something for me.” She looked at him, he said nothing. “Either way, whether I come back or not, your wife gets her divorce,” she stated, “and you undertake never to see her again, not to interfere in her life. You will not undermine any new relationship she decides to engage in. You may see your son, but only if she wishes it and if so, you will abide strictly by any conditions she sets thereon.”

A trace of his old belligerence returned, and he sulked “Why? Why should I agree t' that?”

She smiled. “Don't be stupid, Harry. I'm not coming back, am I? You said it yourself: nobody returns from the Castle of Forever. So what have you to lose? You're going to be a very rich man in a week's time. Why jeopardise that? Because you see, the usage of the key is dependent on your agreeing to the entire proposal. Refuse to accept my conditions and you get nothing.”

“I ... sees.” He seemed to be thinking it over, and all the while the key was tightly held in his hand, as if he was afraid she would take it back. “Well, as ye say, 'tis yr funeral, so wot 'ave I t' lose? I agrees to yer con-dish-yuns. I'll give Mira 'er divorce, never see 'er again, long as I lives.”

“Good. Now, one final thing. You don't lie very well, Harry. You weren't sick that day, were you? The day your friends all charged off to the castle and left you behind?”

“I was,” he insisted stubbornly, like a guilty man who knows he has been caught out, but is determined to stick to his story. “Terrible, it were! Couldn't leave the vicinity of the -”

She cut him off firmly. “No,” she said. “That's not true. I see it in your eyes, Harry. You were lying then, and you're lying now. You've been lying,” she told him, “for a long time, haven't you?”

Jumping onto the defensive he snarled “What the fuck are ye: a witch? That it?” he leered towards her. “We burn witches round these 'ere parts. If I were to tell someone in authority ...” The leer became a nasty smile. She shook her head.

“No Harry, I'm not a witch,” she denied the charge. “And you won't be trying to sell me out to anyone, will you? Because then they'll say you lay with a witch, so you'd be cursed, wouldn't you? And no other woman would look at you, never mind sleep with you, for as long as you lived.”

There was panic in his eyes. “I – I'd tell 'em ye entangled me!” He swore. She rolled her eyes.

“Enchanted,” she corrected him. “You'd tell them I enchanted you.”

“Um, yeah. Enchanted. That's it. I'd tell 'em ye enchanted me.”

“No you won't,” she assured him in a cold voice. “Because the law “round these 'ere parts” (mockingly mimicking his accent) holds that any man – any man – who sleeps with a witch is cursed, whether he was forced to, tricked into it or did it of his own free will. The law holds no favourites, my dear, and accepts no exceptions.” She allowed this to sink in for a moment before flashing him a disarming smile. “But that doesn't matter, does it, because as I say, I'm not a witch.”

In this she was certainly telling the truth. Although they were supernatural creatures, none of the daoine dhubh had any real magical powers. They could not cast spells, they could not control the weather and they certainly could not turn people into other things. Truth to tell, the lowliest wizard Up Here had far more magical power than any Darkling, and could easily defeat one. In theory. But what she did have was superior cunning and intelligence, coupled with a sexual energy and magnetism that could virtually defeat any foe on its own. Her eyelashes were lethal weapons, her tits were avatars of destruction, her long slim legs deadly and even her smile was a tool she could turn to her own advantage. She and her sisters were well the match of any mortal, males especially but females were not safe by any means, as she had ably demonstrated earlier with Beatrice.

Well, all but trolls. Damn those rock creatures! She had no power over those sexless beings, which was one of the reasons why she had come to this town on the edges of the Grey Forest.

“So 'ow do ye know – think ye know I'm lyin' then?” Harry's coarse voice cut in on her ruminations, and she grinned at him.

“Like I say, Harry, you're not a good liar. I have ... something of a talent for spotting the truth in people's eyes.”

He drew back. “Ye is a witch!” he accused her. She rolled her eyes.
“Let's not start all that again! Look, just accept I know you're lying. Now, if I do return, I want you to gather everyone in the town square, the market or wherever announcements are traditionally made, and admit your guilt to the whole town. I want you to apologise for your cowardice, especially to the families of the ones you were supposed to ride with. I want you to tell them you were not sick, but afraid, and left your friends – their loved ones – to face Moribund alone.”

After a long silence he asked “Why would ye ask me that? Wot does it matter to you?”

She gave him a very cold stare. “The truth matters,” she told him. “And to ensure that you will do as I ask, if I do return, I want you to swear on something you hold dear that you will honour our agreement.”

He nodded, muttered “I swear on me wife's life.” She laughed harshly.

“I said something you value, Harry! You've already made it quite clear that you don't value your wife, so think again.”

With a red face burning with anger and resentment, he growled “Fine, then! Fuck ye! I swear on me kid's life.”

She tutted, waved a finger at him. “Wrong again,” she told him. “You don't really care for Eric either; you told me you weren't cut out to be a dad. Let's see ... oh I know!” She brightened as she looked down at him. “What's the thing, the one thing you value, the one thing all men value above everything else?” She gave him a stare of pure ice. “Swear on your cock,” she all but ordered him. “Swear that if you try to weasel out of this, I can cut your cock off. And I will,” she promised him with a tight smile.

For a moment he held her stare, almost impressing her, then he sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands. She wasn't sure, but she thought the fucker was actually crying! Sounds emerged from behind his palms, eventually resolving into words. “ ... to deserve this ... only wanted t' fuck ... beautiful woman ... me wife ... why me?”

She leaned down, and with surprising gentleness removed his hands from over his eyes. “Don't take it so hard,” she soothed him. “Look on the bright side: I'm never coming back, am I? I'm just some crazy bitch who thinks she's going to walk into the lair of the most powerful wizard in the kingdom and come back out alive, do something nobody has ever done. You're perfectly safe and so is your cock. Remember the upside: seven days from now you're going to be a very rich man, and all you have to do to ensure that is swear this oath, which won't even take effect unless firstly I make it back and secondly you try to cheat me. It would be humiliating, sure,” she agreed, “to have to tell all your friends and neighbours that you are a coward, but then, that's not going to happen, is it? The chances of me coming back here and making you do that, why, they're laughable, are they not?”

He nodded miserably, but a cunning smile, long absent from his face, was beginning to creep back onto his features, and at the reminder of the riches that awaited him he brightened up. She was definitely out of her mind; no possible chance of her returning once she crossed the threshold of that awful place. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. What a waste. Still, if it made him a rich man he would allow a thousand sexy girls to walk to their gruesome deaths. What did he care?

“All right then,” he agreed. “I swear on me cock that I'll do all ye ask.”

“Good boy.” She almost patted him on the head. “Remember, all you have to do is wait seven days. You'll never see me again, and you'll be a very rich man indeed.”

A sudden thought seemed to occur to him as she made her way to the door. “Hey!” he jumped up, a frown on his face. “How do I know ye'll even go t' castle? What's t' stop ye from just headin' off somewhere, waitin' for a week and then comin' back, takin' yer key back an' forcin' me to 'umiliate meself in front o' all me friends?” As the idea took hold, he strode towards his sword, still hanging on the chair. “That's the catch, innit?” he snarled, his fingers closing around the weapon in a way that demonstrated to her that, as she had surmised, it was there largely for the purposes of intimidation and display, but had seldom if ever been used. “You're one sick bitch, ye know that?” he told her, advancing on her.

But she only smiled at him, stopping in the doorway. “You're welcome to accompany me as far as the threshold,” she told him. He spat on the floor.
“Yeah, where yer mates in the forest are waitin' t' strike me down! Ye think I'm stupid, bitch?”
She let that pass without comment. Heaving a wounded sigh, she said, "Harry, you're a hard man to please. All this money can be yours if I don't come back, and you're still not happy. But don't worry." She flashed him a wolfish smile, which caused him to lose his grasp on the blade and stagger backwards, falling against the bed, looking at her like a trapped animal that suddenly realises just exactly what it is facing.
"I'll bring you back a souvenir, never fear," she promised, and then, to his intense relief she was gone, and his bowel, unwilling to wait for him to lurch to the privy, emptied itself.